


The House Guest

by wildestranger



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildestranger/pseuds/wildestranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enforced cohabitation, wizarding politics, magical bonding, fuckbuddies-but-secretly-more, playing with romance cliches, and occasional cameos by Severus Snape and Blaise Zabini. Written before DH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The House Guest

**Author's Note:**

> Written for reversathon 2006 with prompt: 'Plotty romance sounds ideal. I'd love a Remus/Draco post-HBP forced bonding that doesn't hinge on Remus being a werewolf. For the other things on your list of writing preferences, I am all about the fuckbuddies but secretly more, sarcasm, hurt/comfort, angst, rimming, frottage, and anal sex. If you can fit virginity or blackmail (but not Remus or Draco blackmailing the other, at least not too seriously) in there, as well, then go for it.'

**The Beginning**

Draco leaves the house early. He walks to the Apparation point in the Northwest corner of the Manor, takes a long breath of humid morning air and thinks hard on _The Ministry of Magic, The Gorgonda Annex, London._ He is almost prepared for the cacophony of rude voices that greet him at his destination, but the transition from rural Wiltshire is always a little strange.

The invitation had arrived a week earlier. Draco has not left the house during that week, nor for a week before that. He gets all his necessities delivered to the house, food and wine and books and rentboys, and there's no need, really, for him to go anywhere. Sometimes he makes trips to Bristol, to buy something he'd forgotten to put on the latest list, or to see a play, or a concert. But those occasions are rare, and he grows tired whenever he is surrounded by other people for long periods of time.

He used to go to London, right after the war, and lose himself in Muggle streets and parks and restaurants and pubs. He would watch the people and allowed them to watch him, no Disillusionment Charms or cloaks, no Obliviation or Repelling Charms. It was a thrill, letting himself be seen by Muggles. His father would have been livid.

Then his legs started failing, the nerves and joints in his knees having never recovered from the war and his Aunt's sustained cruciatus and his Uncle's knifeplay. It took Severus six months to develop a potion that would halt the decay. He can walk, now, almost as fast as any other man, and as stiffly and gracelessly as any other man.

Draco walks through the door of the Auror's Bureau, down the corridor full of people pretending not to stare at him, and only stops to knock on Kingsley Shacklebolt's door.

**A Meeting at the Ministry**

"Mr. Malfoy. It is my duty to inform you that as a former Death Eater, you are still under suspicion of treason towards the wizarding world…"

"I gather you've not yet understood the meaning of the word 'former'."

"…and although the Ministry has allowed you to inherit your father's estate…"

"Since everything to do with the Black fortune had to go to Potter, never mind that she was my mother…"

"…it does not please the public to see Draco Malfoy enjoy the fruits of generations of Dark magicians. Your activities as a spy for our side keep you from Azkaban, but the numerous crimes you committed against the wizarding population cry out to heaven for vengeance."

There's a pause as they all consider this last phrase. From the corner of his eye Draco see McGonagall roll her eyes, and even Shacklebolt seems embarrassed to be reading out such ridiculous things. Lupin, on the other hand, shows no signs of having heard anything remarkable.

"Did you come up with that line all by yourself?"

Shacklebolt narrows his eyes, but doesn't answer. When he does open his mouth, the words are sharp, steady and undoubtedly his own.

"We don't trust you. You have the capacity to develop enough Dark magic to trouble the wizarding world for years, and enough friends to build up another army to fight us. You have money, social prestige and opportunities for influencing the wrong people. The Ministry has decided to make it impossible for you to take advantage of these things in order to become a threat."

Draco has to swallow twice to get rid of the foul taste in his mouth.

"So what, you're going to imprison me? Disinherit me and give the rest of my money to Potter? Arrange for a suitable Potions accident?"

This time it's McGonagall who speaks.

"No, Mr. Malfoy. You need to be contained, not destroyed."

"And naturally, the Ministry does not wish to be seen as depriving people of their assets; that would go against the freedom of our nation."

Shacklebolt's aside is delivered with almost an ironic smile. Draco wonders for the umpteenth time whether these people actually believe what they are required to say.

"What is it, then?"

"There's a spell that allows us to monitor your thoughts to a certain extent. It's not as invasive as Legilimiency, but it's enough to let us know if you are plotting anything unsuitable."

"Anything unsuitable? And who decides what is unsuitable?"

"The person with whom you will perform the spell. It creates a bond between you that allows the other person to supervise your thoughts, or their direction, at least, not so much individual and precise thoughts. You'll be able to sense the thought patterns of the other person as well, although the spell will be stronger on his side. The _Copula Mollis,_ it's called. Apparently used to be quite popular during the seventeeth century, but has now fallen into disuse."

Draco sits quietly for a moment, stares at the table before him, coughs lightly.

"It's a marriage spell, isn't it?"

And now Shacklebolt coughs with embarrassment, McGonagall averts her eyes and Lupin still says nothing. Draco lifts his chin.

"It has been used for that purpose, although in this case that obviously won't happen."

"And as a marriage spell, it would make it impossible for me to ever make other such bonds."

Shacklebolt smiles at that, in a way that he probably thinks jovial.

"Well, that's not something that would concern you in any case, now would it? Seeing as the wizarding world doesn't allow homosexual marriages."

At that last smirk, all the undefined anger inside Draco is no longer undefined.

"So that's what this is about. And may I ask who is it that you've chosen for my mate?"

For a moment nothing happens. Then both Shacklebolt and McGonagall turn to look at Lupin. Lupin stares at the table, his mouth tightly shut and his hands clasped in his lap. Draco begins to feel sick.

"Fucking hell."

Lupin looks up at him, and Draco feels another jolt of nausea in his belly.

"You do know it's against wizarding law to enforce a bond with a werewolf? In fact, is it not illegal for a werewolf to make any kind of a bond anyway?"

McGonagall's voice is quiet and well-rehearsed.

"There has been a recent change in the law. Due to Mr. Lupin's bravery during the war, it was thought to be contrary to our new policies to prohibit certain members of the wizarding public from marriage. And although Mr. Lupin engagement to Ms. Tonks has since been broken, the law still stands. Your status as suspect allows the Ministry to suspend the regulations against enforced bonding."

"I see."

"Mr. Lupin is a trusted member of the Order and more than capable of handling his part of the bond. However, as his position in our society is somewhat precarious due to his condition, he has not been able to hold a job since the war. You are a rich man, Mr. Malfoy, and you have a big house."

"So, what, he becomes my kept man as well as my guard?"

"Mr. Malfoy, you need to have someone watching over you. Mr. Lupin is a former teacher and is known to you from before. Of all the people we could have chosen for this position, he's the least likely to make things difficult for you."

"I take it that means I should be grateful."

"Yes, you should. Certainly grateful enough to pay for Mr. Lupin's upkeep and to provide him with food and housing. This arrangement will solve both your problems."

"I see. This is your way of getting rid of your problems, is it? Can't be seen to throw innocent men into prison so you must ensure their compliance with invasive magic? Can't let war heroes starve but can't employ them yourself?"

"There are laws in place that prevent the Ministry from employing werewolves, and you are hardly an innocent man…"

"Yes, that's precisely it."

Lupin's voice cuts through Shacklebolt's babble and stuns them all into silence. He is leaning forward on his chair, his hands resting quietly on the table, his body utterly still. He hasn't looked away from Draco for a while.

Draco swallows.

"Right."

**Afterwards**

He fights, of course. Argues wizarding law and policies and bribery at them, argues logic and justice although that makes no difference, none of it does, and there goes his last illusion about Gryffindors being anything other than hypocritical wankers. Shacklebolt goes from annoyed to frustrated to amused and annoyed again, and sometimes there's flicker of sympathy in his expression for who'd want to be tied down like this, but there's nothing he can do in the end.

Draco gives up.

The ceremony is ridiculously complicated, requiring fasting and vigil and purging of the flesh since they must be pure for the ritual. Draco makes pointed remarks about how very impure he is, and all the precise ways in which he has become impure, but it has no effect beyond making the Weasel splutter and blush. Which, at another time, would be a sufficient reward by itself, but at this point is only annoying. Shacklebolt simply stares through him and Lupin behaves as if he's not even there, as if no one is and Draco begins to wonder whether he was somehow damaged in the war. More than is usual, that is, but none of Lupin's friends seem to find his behaviour remarkable.

Draco stops paying attention to Lupin and concentrates on his own performance.

**The Ritual**

"Bet you're doing this for your own kinky purposes. Never got a chance to spy on me in the showers, did you Weasley? Too busy bending over for Potter, weren't you? Well here's your chance, take a long hard look. Just don't tell your girlfriend. She'll never settle for your pathetic freckled cock otherwise."

It's kind of pointless, but this is a ridiculous situation and Weasley is already looking a bit green so why not? Keeping up a constant monologue and pissing off Gryffindors is a good way of distracting himself from the fact that he is naked, covered in green goo that smells like sheep's guts and circling arm in arm with an equally naked Lupin while chanting in Ancient Etruscan. Their guards, or rather the official Auror representatives who have come to observe the ritual, are standing in far away corners of the room, looking stoic (Shacklebolt), constipated (Potter) and just sick (Weasley).

Lupin's skin under his fingers is sweaty and cold, and Draco has to clutch a bit tighter to keep his hold. Not that Lupin can complain; his own hand on Draco's arm will definitely leave bruises and there's even a hint of unevenly cut nails digging into his flesh. The slight pain isn't unwelcome, though, in the dizziness brought on by a week of almost starvation and the constant swirling it keeps him from passing out or throwing up. For the moment, at least. Draco wonders how Lupin is doing, whether the sickening motion is getting to him too, whether the sharp nails on his arm are an effort to keep himself grounded.

Then Draco's knees stop functioning and he crashes on the floor, taking Lupin with him. The last thought before unconsciousness tells him that Lupin still hasn't let go.

**Weakness**

When Potter starts to make a comment about his weak knees, Draco stares him down. Potter might be stupid enough to think that there is something embarrassing about a war wound, but Draco knows how to live with all the potentially humiliating situations his condition can cause, and fainting after the ritual is nothing compared to most of them.

It's pleasant, somehow, that Potter should choose to pick on the one thing about this that won't embarrass him.

**Arrangements**

"You can have the East Wing. Most of the rooms haven't been occupied in years but there should be a few suites that are acceptable. If you want to make any changes, do any redecoration, let me know and I'll speak to my Design Wizard."

It's two days after the ceremony and Lupin is moving in. Draco tries not to look at his pitifully small suitcase or the way his too-big robes hang down from his shoulders. He speaks to a spot behind Lupin's left ear, which works fine since a quick glance reveals that Lupin is listening to a spot behind Draco's right ear. They should get on marvellously.

"I've arranged the agreed amount to be credited into your account every month. If there's anything more you need, just leave me a note or something."

Draco nods and prepares to leave before he realises Lupin is about to speak.

"Thank you. That's all…this is very kind of you."

Draco's frowns and looks at Lupin. He's actually focusing on Draco's face this time.

"There's no need to thank me. This is part of our agreement."

"Nevertheless. It would be unforgivably rude not to thank you. Seeing as I am about to become dependant on you."

"Ah. Well. I understand that's going to be rather mutual."

Lupin frowns at that and his face turns, if possible, even colder.

"I have no intention of abusing my position, Mr. Malfoy. You need not fear that I would intrude on your thoughts."

Draco notices that he has taken a step closer only when he sees Lupin flinch at the invasion of his personal space.

"Isn't that the whole point? That you get to decide whether my thoughts are unsuitable?"

Lupin doesn't move, only grows more still. There's a tension in his body that suggests a coil about to be unleashed, and Draco realises he has crossed a line.

"No, Mr. Malfoy. The point of this exercise is to get rid of two problems and to hide them so that regular wizarding folk don't have to look at them. We can make this as unpleasant as possible if you insist, but frankly I'd rather not."

"Right. You can stay in your wing and I can stay in mine, and we can just not bother each other."

"Exactly."

That seems to require a smile, but Draco isn't sure he can manage.

"Sounds good."

**Settling In**

Draco soon goes back to his habits from Before The Arrangement, sitting in his room, reading heavy books, and contemplating his navel (Sometimes literally. There's a strange-looking bump in it, and Draco wonders whether that's because of something that happened in the war or whether it was there before and he just doesn't remember.). Remus spends his days in his own wing, occasionally wandering to Draco's side to work in the library. They eat in the Old Dining Room, sitting on opposite sides of a thirty-foot table, a hundred candles between them. Usually, they both bring books.

However, Draco isn't a silent reader. He likes to laugh or snort or curse at the text in front of him, and one time when Remus raises yet another eyebrow at the noise, he feels compelled to explain how very stupid and annoying this book is. Remus starts to ask questions (Later on Draco decides he was being purposefully taunted, since there is no way Remus could actually believe in such ridiculous conspiracy theories or to find such blatant disregard for history acceptable.) and Draco starts to answer, and soon there is habitual sarcasm flying between them. Most often it's directed at popular Muggle writers from America, but sometimes also at the colour of Remus' socks, which clash dreadfully with his robes, or at the sneer Draco has spent the last fifteen years practising in front of the mirror, apparently unsuccessfully.

After a month Draco makes the house-elves serve their food in the Blue Dining Room, where the dining table is only ten feet long and there are comfortable armchairs by the fireplace for when Draco tries to tempt Remus with twenty-year-old bottles of tawny port. It's nicer than using a _Sonorus _Charm all the time (Remus) or simply shouting across the table (Draco).

Also, the chairs are more pleasant and for a while Draco even stops complaining about the permanent damage to his back.

**The Wolf**

There's a room in the northeast corner of the house. Draco hasn't been there but he's discussed the arrangements with the Design wizard; the unbreakable charms on the windows, hidden cupboards that can only be opened by human hands, spells to monitor the temperature. The house-elves deliver food and clothes and ointments in the morning after, and there's a hole in the wall that allows things to be pushed through from the outside after a certain switch has been pulled two corridors down. They can't see through the door, though, no one can until Remus chooses to come out.

Draco doesn't know about being a werewolf, and when he's honest with himself (at three in the morning after a sleepless night and two bottles of cabernet sauvignon) he admits that he doesn't want to know, doesn't want to understand or think about it too much. However, being wounded and helpless and in pain is another thing, and so privacy and tools for independence are things he makes sure Remus has.

**Surveillance**

Shacklebolt calls on them three months after the ritual. Draco reports that there has been no misuse of the bond and refuses the opportunity, again, to make a statement under Verisetarum. Shacklebolt writes down what he says, nods sagely a few times and tries to shake Draco's hand. Draco gives him a long cold look, then calls for a house-elf to show his guest out.

He doesn't ask what Remus told Shacklebolt, and Remus doesn't tell.

**The Rentboy**

The boy is tanned, fit and Australian. He says his name is Matt, not that Draco asks. He keeps smiling the whole time Draco leads him through the house.

Draco fucks him in one of the guest rooms, face down on the unopened coverlet, with the afternoon sun filtering through half closed curtains. Matt makes all the right noises, a few swearwords, a few _oh yes god now_s, and grabs the sheets with just the right amount of force when Draco pushes into him. He's smooth and pliant and bendy, and his skin smells of sunscreen.

Draco is just about to tell him to shut up so he can concentrate when images of another man start to flit across his mind. Skin that isn't soft and unmarked and covered in coconut oil, muscles that don't give in easily. A bony spine beneath his mouth, a rough breath for each bite, and shivers, precious because unwillingly given and won with difficulty.

He comes to when Matt begins to move underneath him, still grinning as he pushes Draco off. Draco doesn't remember touching the boy's cock, but there's a wet spot on the covers indicating that he is not the only one who came.

"That's fifty galleons, then, mate."

Draco pays, a little unnerved by the satisfied smirk on the boy's face, then goes in search of Remus.

In the last month Draco's library has turned against him. Apparently centuries of Malfoy respect are nothing compared to the devoted love of one half-blood werewolf, and Draco has had to ask Remus several times to tell the bookshelves to stop turning away from him.

It does, however, make it easy to find Remus most of the time.

"What the hell was that?"

One of the grimoires on Remus' desk quivers threateningly at him, but as Draco grabs his wand and glares at it, it settles down with a huff. Sadly, the same approach doesn't work on Remus, who has yet to look up from his notes.

"What did you do?"

There's more than a hint of accusation in his voice and Draco can see the resulting stillness in Remus' shoulders.

"I didn't do anything, Draco."

"Well, why the fuck do I suddenly get…" _visions of fucking you when I'm fucking somebody else that make me come harder than I've ever come before_ "…some fucked-up visions about you in the middle of the day? What were you doing?"

"I think it's more a question of what you were doing."

Remus is looking at him now, cold eyes taking in Draco's cheeks, still flushed from his orgasm, and his rumpled clothing. There's an unpleasant curve on his mouth.

"That's none of your business."

"I agree. However, the bond seems to think that at such moments it is, ahem, _necessary _to remind us of each other. To protect the bond, as it were."

Remus' hands are wrapped tightly around his quill and parchment, and Draco realises they have been like that ever since he entered the room.

"Right."

They stare at each other for a while, until Remus coughs and starts staring at his notes again.

"I've been doing some research into the history of the spell, to see if I can find out more about what it does."

"Good. That's good."

The grimoire wriggles seductively, as if realising that his master is about to conclude his business with the nasty boy and it's time to get down to business again. Draco narrows his eyes and gets a ripple that sounds suspiciously like a snort in return.

"What did you see, then?"

Remus' hand stops in the middle of turning a page, then continues in its way, smoothing down the paper with soft fingers. Draco can't look at his face.

"A few images. Your hands on his hips. The way his muscles clenched. His sweat on your sheets."

Remus doesn't look up or say anything more, and so Draco leaves the library, equally silent, and unbearably hard.

**Pain**

The next attack happens four months into the arrangement. Draco is walking by the lake, the sun hot on his back and a few mosquitoes buzzing around his Imperturbable Shield, when something goes wrong with his left knee. There's a rather horrific wrenching noise, then waves and waves of blinding pain, and Draco vomits on the nearest sunflower and promptly passes out.

He wakes up in his room. The house-elves had been alerted with a tracking spell he'd created, and they would have brought his unconscious body back to the house and called Severus. There was, however, no need to bring in Remus.

"How are you feeling?"

"Just spiffing. And yourself? Eaten anybody recently?"

Remus rolls his eyes, but Draco is too annoyed to care about how witty and original his insults are. His knees are completely numb, and he knows the ice-like substance that has been sprayed on them will hurt like hell once he starts to feel his skin. Luckily, that should still be a few hours away.

"Severus had to go back, but he left you a note, and asked me to tell you that if you're stupid enough to go hiking in this heat after ignoring the exercise regime for months then this is what you can expect. And, I quote, that _even taking into consideration your tendency to emulate the Brazilian sloth in your study habits, it would still be quicker and more efficient if you managed to perfect the self-directed Avada Kedavra._"

"I see."

Remus smiles, and goes back to his book. Draco twists his head to read the spine. Montesquieu's _Persian Letters._

"What can you see?"

Draco knows the moment Remus stops reading, although his eyes remain lowered. Long, pale eyelashes flutter once on Remus' cheeks.

"Colours. Sometimes flashes of light, or waves of movement. A few times there've been stronger images. Detailed ones."

"But what does it tell you?"

Remus closes his eyes.

"It tells me nothing. And I don't particularly want to see it in the first place."

Draco waits a few heartbeats, but Remus still doesn't look.

"Can you feel my knees?"

And there it is, just a tiny moment of shock and rage and mind numbing fear. Pale brown eyes wide open and forgetting to blink.

"No," Remus says, and Draco smiles to see the lie on his face.

"Good. I'm glad."

Draco's smile is invincible now.

**Hermione Writes**

_Dear Draco_, and isn't that the most annoying of presumptions, he was never _Draco _to her and he certainly wasn't dear, and what is it about his situation that invites familiarity from Gryffindors? _Dear Draco,_ she says, _I just wanted to let you know that I think what they are making you do is a horrible miscarriage of justice and I'm doing my best to find a way to free you both. So far my arguments have not been successful but I'm hopeful that in time I will be able to convince Harry and Ron to take your side. Auror Tonks is already working with us, and there are a number of legal loopholes that we might be able to take advantage of. I will let you know as soon as I find something. Please give my love to Remus. Yours sincerely, Hermione Granger._

It takes Draco ten minutes to stop laughing and to go show the letter to Remus. Remus gives him a wan smile and his eyes aren't nearly as cold when they turn to look at Draco. Draco curls his hands around the back of the armchair and tries to keep still.

"She was very vocal in her opposition to this before the Order took the vote. She'd gathered lots of Muggle directives about discrimination and the Geneva Convention and such, but of course those mean nothing to most wizards and so it was easy for them to ignore her. She managed to get a few people on her side, though. Bill and Fleur, and Charlie. Hestia Jones. And Tonks."

"You dump my cousin and she still takes your side?"

"It wasn't quite as simple as that. And Tonks wouldn't let that make a difference anyway, even if she did hate me. She wouldn't act unfairly because of personal resentment."

"Sounds like a wonderful woman."

"She is."

"Still a woman, though."

"Yes."

The smile on Remus' face turns into something new and unnerving, a more subtle expression of delight. Draco grips the chair harder.

"She calls you her cousin as well, you know."

And that, Draco decides, was completely unnecessary.

**Some morning**

One morning Draco wakes up early without knowing why. The sky is barely light, heavy clouds still covering for darkness, and the world is grey. He looks out of his window, the curtains left open from some night when wine and poetry made him want to stargaze, sees the ground shine with dew and cold air.

There's a figure walking towards the house. Draco recognises the spare frame of his body and the determined unawkwardness of his gait long before Remus is close enough to be seen. He watches, not thinking to hide himself behind curtains (as it later occurs to him he should have done) and waits to see more.

He knows he has watched Remus before, taken in the pale calm eyes and the slight scars in his wrists, noticed the way the corner of his mouth turns up when he is being sarcastic. He has noted these things and put them away, decided with some vehemence to ignore them. But this vision comes as a shock and he cannot defend himself against it. That narrow chest, those slim hips, the memory of Remus' naked body that he wasn't supposed to pay attention to. Sparse body hair and wiry arms, stronger than him, bigger than him. Remus is a grown man with twenty years of adulthood in him and when Draco looks at him he realises that he is still very much a boy.

He remembers Remus' sweat-slicked fingers on his arm, the low steady breathing in his ear, the warmth of another man's body close to him even when they weren't touching. And when they did, accidentally bumping into each other throughout the ceremony, there had been the rough brush of another man's skin against his, a different kind of skin, with jagged scars and coarse hair and hard flesh.

Draco watches as Remus walks, exhaustion hanging from his shoulders and the unsteady walk of shaking muscles. He doesn't step back when Remus lifts his head and sees him.

Draco doesn't leave his room that day.

**Blaise Comes To Visit**

A few weeks later, Blaise comes to visit. He listens to Draco's brief explanation about his houseguest, takes a peek into the library and snickers, and then spends the rest of the evening pouting demurely at Remus and calling him "Professor Lupin" with his best I'm-a-naughty-schoolboy-please-spank-me voice. Draco takes to grinding his teeth.

Afterwards, they retire to the blue sitting room and open a bottle of 1998 St. Emilion. Blaise pours them both large glasses, which Draco takes as his due after all the aggravation at dinner.

After two glasses, however, it gets worse.

"So if you don't want him, can I have him?"

"What?"

"Do you seriously not find him attractive? All that quiet grace and deep knowledge and subtle sarcasm? I really wouldn't mind having him."

"Blaise, you can't shag my houseguest."

"Why not? You're not shagging him. He's just going to waste, you know. And so are you incidentally. You're twenty-three and living like a middle-aged straight man. When was the last time you had a shag?"

"None of your business, now look, you can't have him and that's that."

Blaise smirks.

"Perhaps you just don't like other people touching your toys."

"Perhaps. But are you referring to Lupin or yourself?"

Blaise continues to tease and Draco continues to scowl until they pass out on the sofa. The next day Blaise leaves for Paris and gives Draco a particularly evil smirk as well as instructions to keep him up to date on his courting.

But the worst part is when Draco goes to the library and asks for a spell to imitate the nastier symptoms of wizarding herpes, and Remus not only refuses to help him, but laughs in his face and calls Blaise a clever boy.

**Some Introspection**

He can feel it sometimes, the slow brush of someone's thoughts inside his head. He's fairly certain that Remus doesn't do it on purpose. As time passes, Draco begins to sense more and more intentions, waves of urges and desires sent his way without conscious thought. However, as most of Remus' intentions tend to focus on things like uncramping his legs or getting more light in the library, Draco doesn't worry. He's slightly troubled by the deep and constant longing for green tea, though.

It doesn't hurt, like he feared, and there isn't a sense of invasion, not really. But it comes down to a choice; what he can decide to tell others about what he feels, and what he can keep to himself. There isn't much, and although they are both dreadfully careful, the power to go at will beyond another person's face and body and words is a frightening thing.

The worst (or the best, he can't decide) is the enforced closeness, the fact that he always wants to know what Remus is thinking. He wants to know things he has never bothered to learn about another human being, like what does Remus feel when he drinks his green tea, or what fascinates him about Ancient Runes, or what does he look like when you lick the inside of his arm.

Draco has never been a curious boy, but now he's quivering with the need to know, and every new flash of insight makes his blood hum.

**A Pass**

It's early evening and Draco has been pacing the dining room for the past forty-five minutes. It isn't unusual for Remus to forget to eat, and while the house-elves will pester him to accept trays and trays full of appetising food (fresh fruit cut into small pieces, delicate morsels of bread and cheese, glasses full of cold, strong gazpacho; all things easy to eat while reading), most of the time he's polite enough to send Draco a message that he won't be joining him for dinner. But he forgets that too, sometimes, too engrossed into whatever ancient text he's studying, which gives Draco the opportunity to throw a carefully planned hissy fit and guilt trip Remus into eating with him.

Sometimes. But today he can't wait, the words have been bubbling inside him for weeks and they grow more and more foul as he waits. And so he storms into the library, his robes pillowing behind him ("I see you're growing more like your old head of house everyday. Severus would be so proud." "Shut up, Lupin, and why were you watching Snape's robes anyway? Hoping to get a peek at his arse?" "I felt that since Severus had gone through all that trouble to give such a splendid performance, it would be churlish of me not to take a moment to appreciate it." "Churlish, my arse." "Well, quite. Or rather, his." "And what did Black think about your appreciation of Severus' arse?" "As I recall, any indication that I was, ahem, appreciating Severus' clothing choices caused Sirius to indicate his displeasure at that idea with much inventiveness and determination." "You know, I'm not sure I want to know why the mention of Professor Snape and my cousin causes you to smirk in that unholy way." "Don't worry, Draco, I have no intention of telling you." "Oh god, you don't have to." "Well, not as to the detail, no."), and hopes he won't pass out before he gets the words out.

Remus is in the process of taking a sip from a small glass of potent Málaga wine, and Draco barely has time to think _oh good he's drunk _before he blurts out: "I think we should have sex."

He can't look at Remus' face so he looks at his throat instead, the slow movement of careful swallowing rippling under the skin, making it swell. The thought of pressing his lips there, of following the jerky motion with his tongue and sucking on the hollow space beside the collarbone, blinds him for a moment, but then he remembers, _Remus _and _sex _and _my god what did he just say._

Remus coughs, takes another long sip of his drink and stares at his notes. There are red spots on his cheeks and Draco is momentarily filled with glee as he realises that he has managed to turn Remus into something not-incredibly-pale.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Draco."

The condescension stings, and Draco holds on to that, fills his head with _Don't patronise me you stupid wanker _and _How dare you _so that he doesn't have think about the fact that Remus has said no. He had expected that, he knows there's no reason for Remus to say yes and that there's probably a hundred reasons for him to say no. But still, they're not good enough because he needs this, and while Draco realises that that really isn't a reason for Remus to say yes either, he still has to speak.

"We might as well, you know. Seeing as we can't, with anyone else, and it gets a bit frustrating after a while and you're here so we might as well. And you're not bad looking."

Draco knows the last bit is a really bad thing to say (not that the previous bits were much better, but at least not quite so criminally stupid) but it's better than _I can't stop thinking about your hands and one of these days I'm going to pin you against the door and suck that piece of skin under your jaw without warning so you might as well give in gracefully._

The condescension is gone, at least, and Draco is fiercely glad to see the rising anger on Remus' face. Soon there will be clipped words and cutting sarcasm and maybe a bit of teeth. Draco shivers in anticipation and tries not to grin.

"As enticing a proposition as that is, I'm afraid I'm still going to have to decline. It would be a spectacularly stupid idea, you see, considering that we'll have to live with each other afterwards. And also, I don't want to."

"You lie."

The words are exhaled before Draco can pull them back.

"Do I? You can't imagine that someone might not want you, Draco?"

"You lie!"

This time he doesn't even try because it's not true, it can't be, and since when did he become such a Gryffindor that he'd believe in or care about truth? But there's an almost malicious grin on Remus' lips and Draco realises that this is him fighting dirty, pulling up weapons from wherever he can and of course Draco's vanity would be one of the things he can use.

He leaves, then, goes to bed without dinner and spends the night shaking in his bed. It is past dawn before he falls asleep, before he understands that Remus making use of such methods means that there is something to protect.

**The First Time**

After that he can't stop, casually obscene suggestions falling from his lips at every turn, and no matter how many times Remus flinches or runs or tells him to fuck off, Draco doesn't stop.

It isn't only the want. There is still a constant gnawing at his insides, carving out hollow places from what used to be insensitive mass, but he is used to that now. What bothers him, though, is the way he becomes raw and needy around Remus, how one look peels away all his protective layers and turns him into a quivering mass of exposed nerves. Greedy nerves at that, and that's why he can't stop asking, why he must get more. His words become sharp and almost brutal, hacking away at both their defences, at whatever veneers of civilisation and human courtesy they have left.

When he snaps, it's only a small thing. A few crude words about despair and convenience and meaningless thrusting bodies, and suddenly Draco is pushed against the living room wall with Remus' teeth at his neck.

"What do you want?"

There's something desperately embarrassing about being pinned down by a former teacher and trying to hump the wall like a horny schoolboy, but Draco doesn't care, and in any case he's incapable of not begging.

"I want you to fuck me."

A moment of silence, with Remus' jerky breaths against his neck making Draco's hair quiver. Then there are sharp teeth tugging at his earlobe and Draco's knees buckle under him and all he can think is _finally, thank you, please._

Remus isn't gentle with him, but it's all good since Draco doesn't think he could bear gentleness. The tearing of cloth and the push and pull of muscle as he is stripped naked and ruthlessly spread open pleases him, as do the blunt fingers pressing into him and the filthy words whispered into his ear. There is flesh everywhere and Draco is greedy for it, for whatever pieces of still-mostly-clothed Remus he can reach. Scarred fingers keeping his wrists tangled above his head, a sharp hipbone digging into his arse. A hot tongue drawing sigils into his shoulder blades.

Then Remus pushes into him and Draco can't help crooning his gratitude into the hand across his mouth.

**Casual**

It's easy for him to knock on Remus' door after that, easier than waiting in his own room would be. And Remus doesn't turn him away, not even when he's tired after the full moon and bleeding through his clothes. Draco becomes careful then, careful like he's never had to be, but for Remus, who doesn't let the slightest noise escape when Draco picks torn nails and bloodied flesh and pieces of skin from his wounds, he learns to be.

In time he also learns to be less greedy, letting Remus do what he wants rather than forcing him to pin Draco against the nearest available surface and fuck him into the wall. There isn't much he can hide when he's nuzzling the joint between Remus' hip and thigh, sucking the delicate flesh and murmuring half-lucid whimpers of longing, but he reckons that what he doesn't want to say is also what Remus doesn't want to hear, so they should be okay.

Draco likes to give long, leisurely blowjobs, lying between Remus' thighs and sucking slowly on Remus' cock, feeling the tension build up in the muscles under his hands, feeling them slow down again. Remus calls him a tease for it, but after a few times of coming so hard he passes out he stops complaining.

They don't talk about it.

**And In The End**

It's been a year and Hermione sends them a letter about how's she's still trying but sadly there has been news of Death Eaters congregating in France and the Ministry is not prepared to take any risks in homeland security. She still sounds optimistic, although Draco figures that's just Granger being a patronising cow.

They go on. Remus tries to lure Draco into helping him with his research, but Draco is resistant to any attempts to disrupt his laziness. He reads when he likes, eats, drinks and sucks cock, and that's enough for him to want.

Severus comes by sometimes, and drives Draco dizzy with the sly insults he gives Remus. It's taken him a while to realise how Remus answers, with even more subtle prodding and irresistible traps laid out for Severus. He considers asking Remus what he thinks about threesomes, but decides against it in the end. Snape's skin is probably oily anyway.

Remus still lives in the east wing, and they sleep in both his room and in Draco's. They've shagged in forty-five different bedrooms so far. Draco wants to do the tour of the manor, and he's saving his parents' bedroom for a special occasion.

**How**

Touch is the way they say things they don't say, things they can't or don't want to say. Draco cringes at the thought of all the horrible girly things that would come out of him if he let them. This is much better, the brush of a calloused thumb over his shoulder blade, warm open mouth moving down his spine. A comforting weight on his back saying _no you're not alone, I've got you, I'm here._

Better.

_The End._


End file.
